


Star Fallen From The Sky

by RonnieRedmayne



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War II, Falling In Love, Fluff, Interrogation, Light Angst, M/M, NO GRAPHIC VIOLENCE OR BRUTALITY, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Isak Valtersen, Pining, Romance, Slow Burn, Thrill and drama, doctor!Isak, pilot!Even
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:35:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27796267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RonnieRedmayne/pseuds/RonnieRedmayne
Summary: Trøndelag, 1943Isak Valtersen lives a quiet life of a village doctor until one night a star (in the shape of a RAF pilot) falls from the sky and changes his life forever.Inspired by one of the pictures from Henrik's London photoshoot.
Relationships: Even Bech Næsheim/Isak Valtersen
Comments: 97
Kudos: 102





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hei, my friends!
> 
> Here I am again and this time with my first ever chaptered story! 
> 
> The inspiration behind it all comes from a black and white photo of Henrik standing at Trafalgar Square and looking absolutely dashing (as he always does). The photo had such a perfect 1940s vibe that it instantly made me daydream (yet again) about Evak in a vintage setting and subsequently realise that there aren't enough fics which explore Evak in a different time/period/era (So much unused potential!). So, I decided to write a historical AU myself. ;-)
> 
> I already have the whole story planned to the end, so I expect to write and post the chapters somewhat regularly.
> 
> Please, read the tags and end notes. Even though this is a romance first and foremost and the war themes will mostly be just hinted or briefly mentioned, there might still be some triggering content for some of you. (If you think it would be appropriate to add another official tag, please tell me in the comments. Thank you.)
> 
> Finally, as usual, English is not my first language, so I apologise in advance for any mistakes. If you come across any, please tell me in the comments, I'll try to correct them promptly. 
> 
> Enjoy!

_February 1943_

The shy winter sun was hanging very low above the horizon when Isak Valtersen reached his cabin. As usual, he had spent most of the day visiting his patients scattered around the quiet village of Rørvika and a few neighbouring villages as well. He was tired.

With an old iron key, he unlocked the front door of his cabin and just before he entered, he briefly looked up to the mid-February sky. Dozens of thick white clouds were the only thing he could see and even more of them were coming from far and wide. There wasn’t any doubt that it was going to snow that night.

Relieved that he managed to get safely home before sunset and spared himself a dangerous, five-kilometre-long journey in what could easily turn into a blizzard, Isak got inside his small, lonely house with a hint of a smile on his face. In the tiny hallway, he took off his woollen coat, hat and gloves, cleaned his shoes from the melting snow and mud and lit a kerosene lamp. Carrying his bag with bandages, a bottle of ethanol and various medical instruments in one hand and the lamp in the other, he then walked into the main room which served as the living room, dining room and also as a modest kitchen.

The first thing Isak noticed there was the general coldness of the room and frankly, of the whole house. The fire he had lighted in the morning must have already died out. It didn’t surprise him. It was a regular occurrence on the _visiting days_.

He lighted a new fire using the last few logs that lay by the fireplace and then he moved to the kitchen area of the room. First of all, he washed his hands in a small enamel basin, then he put a copper kettle on a small gas stove that stood in the corner and started to prepare some coffee. One mug. More weren’t needed since he lived in the cabin alone. Always alone.

While the water was boiling, he busied himself with preparing something to eat – two large slices of fresh bread, a tin of sardines and an apple. It wasn’t by any means a luxurious dinner but it was enough. In the past few years Isak had learned to live simply and get by with little. Just like the rest of the village. Just like the rest of the country.

When everything was prepared, Isak put it on a small round coffee table and came to sit down in his large armchair by the window. Revelling in its comfort, he let out a deep sigh of relief. Finally, after a long cold day filled with journeys from one patient’s house to another, he had enough time to have a little rest.

As on most days, he ate his humble meal in silence with only the cuckoo clock providing some sort of company to him and later he read the local newspaper that he had bought in the neighbouring village on his way home. When the tiredness of the whole day finally overcame him, he fell into a deep sleep, still fully clothed. At barely quarter past six in the evening.

* * *

When the cuckoo’s insistent call woke Isak up, at precisely ten o’clock, it was already completely dark outside. Isak yawned, stretched his arms above his head, blinked a few times and looked around. The lingering sleepiness was making him slightly confused and slowing down his movements considerably, so he rubbed his face to get a little more awake. Eventually, his gaze fell upon the slowly fading light of the fireplace.

At that moment it hit him. He remembered that he had meant to bring some more firewood from the shed next to his cabin before going to bed. With a deeply reluctant frown and annoyed groan he left the warmth and comfort of his armchair and put another thick sweater over the one that he was already wearing. Then, before he could backtrack on the idea, he walked briskly to the front door and stepped out of the house.

The temperature must have dropped by several degrees since he had returned home in the late afternoon. His cheeks started to redden the very moment they were hit by the freezing air. However, it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant sensation for him because together with the cold, another, quite peculiar feeling began to fill his whole body as well. It felt familiar, almost like a caress, something that was soothing rather than hurting him. Isak couldn’t quite place it.

Until a sudden wave of memories washed all over him and he understood.

Three years and a few months ago, in November 1939, the night, so cold, so dark and yet so strangely peaceful had been the first thing to welcome him, a freshly graduated doctor of medicine, in the small village of Rørvika – his perfect sanctuary in the midst of nature, far away from the blinding lights of the vibrant Oslo society. It had been a real milestone in Isak’s life. A beginning of a new chapter. A much safer one, as Isak had hoped, albeit a little lonely.

In the cold February 1943, the night was equally as dark and silent, equally as inviting and amicable. Almost as if the whole of nature was holding her breath in anticipation of something new and wonderful that was about to come. Something that could change Isak’s entire life as he knew it.

So Isak joined her. Gladly. He took a slow, deep breath, then closed his eyes and made three wishes.

_For the war to end soon._

_For all his loved ones to stay safe, wherever they were._

_For his heart to finally find what it kept so desperately yearning for._

And then… Then he waited.

Only a few heartbeats later, the unmistakable sound of an aircraft engine put an abrupt end to his quiet contemplation. Isak opened his eyes wide and looked up to the sky. In the impermeable darkness he couldn’t see anything but he could still _listen_. And indeed, well-accustomed to discriminate between different types of airplanes by as little as the sounds they were making, he soon recognised that somewhere really close, perhaps even right above him, there was a Spitfire.

Isak frowned in slight bewilderment. It wasn’t unusual for the Western Allies to send a fighter or two to Trøndelag from time to time – Trondheim was Norway’s third largest city after all, an important strategic port and a “gateway to Northern Norway” for the German Kriegsmarine. But, almost as a rule, the pilots tried to keep on the south side of Trondheimsfjorden or, when problems occurred, to fly over the Fosen peninsula on the way back to their air base.

However, this one must have decided to try and fool the enemy by using a different escape route and flew a little farther to the north instead. As it happened, right over Rørvika.

Before Isak could wish the Spitfire a safe journey home, some new and slightly different sounds emerged from the same direction as earlier and kept getting closer very quickly.

_The Luftwaffe._ _Of course_. Two Messerschmitts, if Isak heard correctly.

In a foolish attempt to warn the Spitfire from the impending danger, Isak began to run. Realising the futility of his actions he stopped again almost immediately, only a couple of metres away from his cabin. He still continued to watch the dark sky and listen intently to the sounds of the three airplanes, though.

Soon after, a terrible, soul-piercing sound of shooting cut through the sky. The air battle commenced.

Isak covered his ears and lowered his head. His heart started to hammer wildly against his chest. Completely glued to the spot, he could only imagine what was happening above him, how the Spitfire must have been desperately trying to avoid the missiles of not one but two persistent pursuers and, when possible and opportune, to fight back against them. Even though the chance of success was very slim.

All of a sudden, a loud crash, not at all far away from where Isak was standing, made him turn his gaze abruptly up again. Coincidentally, just in time to see an explosion illuminate the sky with a myriad of bright shades of red and orange.

_One of the fighters was shot down_ , Isak realised in horror _. But… which one?_

When only a moment later the two remaining airplanes resumed shooting at each other, Isak concluded that it must have been one of the Messerschmitts.

_So, the battle isn’t over yet. The forces are just more balanced now._

More missiles were launched. They were piercing Isak’s ears like needles. Both airplanes performed a few elaborate manoeuvres to avoid them, then returned fire. Another series of quick shots flew through the air. By the distinctive, wheezing sound of a heavy object falling fast from a great height, it seemed that some of them managed to hit their target. On both sides.

The second Messerschmitt crashed down somewhere close to the first one and then exploded like a giant red firework. The Spitfire followed its fate soon after. It crashed down as well, although far closer than the other two fighters – only about a kilometre away from Isak’s cabin, it seemed.

After the third and last crash, a heavy and mournful silence covered the whole area like a thick blanket. The battle ended but there were no winners. Only the defeated.

Isak hung his head down, closed his eyes firmly and let out a deep sigh.

_Another three casualties of war. Another three lives lost. So unnecessarily…_ _Except…_

Except that Isak only heard two explosions go off and not three.

As the realisation fully hit him, his thoughts started reeling at the speed of light. He was facing a great dilemma. Should he answer the call of his conscience, attempt to save the pilot and risk being exposed by the German authorities as a traitor to the regime in the process, or should he rather stay away from the whole situation and return back to the relative safety of his cabin?

Isak’s face twisted into a deep frown. For some time, both options seemed equally as appealing to him. Then finally, guided by both his head and heart, he reached a final decision – the only right one in these circumstances. Quickly, he marched back into his cabin and closed the front door shut after himself.

* * *

It only took him a few minutes to put his winter coat, hat and gloves on and stuff his pockets with a few rolls of bandages and a pair of sharp scissors. He knew he had no time to lose. The third airplane hadn’t exploded yet but sooner or later it would. Of that, Isak was absolutely certain. So, in a great hurry, he locked the front door of the cabin and then finally, he embarked on a journey to the meadow from where he had heard the sound of the last crash.

To make it more difficult for any potential witnesses of his commendable but extremely dangerous deed to see him or worse – recognise him (the thick darkness of the cold winter night notwithstanding), Isak tried to keep at the edge of the nearby forest at all times. Despite not taking any torch or lantern with him to show him the way, he walked fairly fast among the tall spruces, the adrenaline in his veins and the slightly sloping terrain adding unusual but very welcome speed to his steps.

_Good_ , Isak thought. _This way, I should get there very soon._

A potentially problematic thought crossed his mind almost at the same time as the previous, positive one. Somewhat bitterly, Isak realised that if he was walking _down_ the hill now, then he would have to walk _up_ the hill later and not just on his own but, if everything goes well and he gets to the airplane in time, with an injured man in need of his support. He didn’t dwell on the worrying fact for too long though and quickly focused back on his main task – saving a man’s life.

Just as Isak had predicted, he arrived to the meadow where the debris of the Spitfire lied spread out haphazardly on the frozen grass only a few minutes later. Well aware that the explosion could go off any moment now, he didn’t hesitate and immediately started climbing one of the wings of the fighter to get access to the cockpit.

The glass door was broken, but it could still be opened without any major difficulties. Once Isak managed to secure it in the right position, so that it wouldn’t unexpectedly close again and endanger them both, his attention shifted fully towards the pilot. Quickly but carefully, he laid his head on the pilot’s chest and listened. The man was unconscious but still breathing and his heart was beating. However, it was a very irregular rhythm to say the least. He needed urgent medical help. There had to be a wound that Isak couldn’t see yet.

Having made sure that the pilot’s legs weren’t tangled or stuck anywhere, Isak took him under his armpits and began to pull him out of the cockpit. It wasn’t easy at all considering that the pilot was unconscious and therefore couldn’t cooperate but eventually, Isak managed to extricate him from the wild mess of metal and glass and laid him on the wing.

Then he found it. An open wound near the pilot’s right collarbone that was making him weaker and more vulnerable. Isak groaned angrily because the first instinct of a thoughtful and responsible doctor of medicine was to start treating the wound immediately, yet he knew very well that he absolutely couldn’t do it. There would be time for these things later, in a safe enough distance from the time bomb that the Spitfire had turned into.

With the imminent danger of explosion crystal clear on his mind, Isak slid down the wing onto the grass and draped the pilot carefully over his back. As fast as he could with such a heavy weight on his shoulders, he then began to stagger away from the airplane.

He had only just reached the edge of the forest, when the explosion went off and the sky was lighted up by terrible reds and oranges once again, for the last time that night. The blast wave threw Isak abruptly forward and made them both fall onto the cold forest ground but luckily, it wasn’t strong enough to cause any more damage.

After the initial shock subsided a little, Isak sat up and dared to inspect the pilot’s wound a little more closely in the light of the fire that the airplane was violently burning with about a hundred metres away. It was bleeding but not as much as Isak had feared. Promptly, he took out the bandages he had brought with him and covered the wound provisionally with some of them. Back in the cabin, he would take his time to clean and bandage it properly. Now, the most important thing was to get away from the scene of the crash as discretely and as quickly as possible.

Having completed everything that was necessary to avert the danger of excessive blood loss and severe infection, Isak picked the pilot up, took him on his back again and very slowly he started to climb the slight hill that would lead them through the forest and back to Isak’s cabin. It was a long and difficult journey indeed. The forest ground was a little wet and muddy in places, even though it had been freezing for several hours at least. Isak tried really hard to tread carefully on the slippery surface but he still fell twice and had to pick himself up and check that the pilot didn’t get even more injured before they could continue walking.

Right after their second fall, a particularly messy one, an alarming thought crossed Isak’s mind.

_We must have left lots of traces behind us down in the meadow and here in the forest._

The sudden realisation made him nauseous with worry. However, he knew there was nothing he could do about it. To retrace his steps and attempt to cover all tracks once they would finally arrive to the cabin was completely out of question because the pilot needed to be taken care of without any further delay. And wandering around too close to the scene of the crash the next day, in broad daylight, would definitely seem suspicious and attract unwelcome attention of the German patrol, so that was absolutely out of question as well.

Seeing no other option how to deal with the situation himself, Isak eventually decided to leave everything to the higher power. He sent a short but sincere prayer to the heavens above to keep them both safe and then he resumed walking.

Soon after, almost on the verge of exhaustion, they finally reached the warmth and safety of Isak’s cabin. The cuckoo had just begun to welcome the arrival of a new day. It was midnight.

Isak sat down on a chair in his bedroom for a moment, put his head into his palms, closed his eyes and exhaled deeply in relief. He was tired, so tired. But he knew very well, too, that the night was still far from over for him. He still had a life to save, a patient (who was currently lying on his bed with an untreated wound) to take care of. So, he didn’t hesitate any longer. He stood up decisively from the chair and did what he knew best. He started healing.

Fully focusing on his task, he didn’t even notice that outside the first snowflakes finally started to fall timidly from the sky and slowly but surely cover everything – the village, the forest and the meadow with the charred remains of a fallen airplane too – with a thick layer of snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked the first chapter! I know that it was a very descriptive one but I promise that once the pilot wakes up (next time), it will all get far more interesting. ;-D
> 
> If you have time, please leave a comment. It always makes me so happy to talk with you!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! <3 <3 <3
> 
> Love,  
> Ronnie
> 
> \------------------------------------
> 
> HISTORY CORNER / TERMINOLOGY
> 
> WWII in Norway = At the start of the war (1st September 1939), Norway was one of the neutral states. However, the Nazi Germany breached its neutrality very soon and on 9th April 1940 they invaded the country. At the same time a coup d'état was carried out by Vidkun Quisling (an avid collaborator and national traitor) and a pro-German puppet regime ("Reichskommissariat Norwegen") was established with Josef Terboven as the de facto head of state. With their military forces everywhere around the country the Nazis occupied Norway until the end of the war (8th/9th May 1945). King Haakon VII and the previous government managed to flee to London in June 1940 and governed from the exile.
> 
> The Wehrmacht = an umbrella term for the Nazi army forces, consisted of:  
> Heer = land forces  
> Kriegsmarine = war navy  
> Luftwaffe = air force
> 
> The Western Allies = an alliance of countries that fought against the Nazi Germany and its allies (so-called Axis powers), consisted of the United Kingdom, the United States, the Soviet Union, their dominions and other countries (for ex. the occupied ones with their governments in exile).
> 
> RAF = Royal Air Force of the United Kingdom
> 
> Spitfire = a type of a fighter aircraft used by RAF (its full name is Supermarine Spitfire), probably the best-known British WWII fighter because they defended the UK during the Battle of Britain, even though RAF also operated lots of Hawker Hurricanes (in North Africa, Russia, Far East) or Gloster Gladiators (these helped to defend Oslo on the first day of the German invasion in April 1940)
> 
> Messerschmitt = a type of a fighter aircraft used by the Luftwaffe, the backbone of its fighter force, the best-known German WWII fighter  
> \------------------------------------
> 
> POSSIBLE TRIGGERING CONTENT: description of an air battle, mentions of shooting, explosions, war (in general) and death


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The pilot wakes up. (And not just him.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!
> 
> Here is the second chapter of my WWII Evak AU.
> 
> Thank you sooooo much for giving such a warm welcome to the first one. Your likes and comments all went straight to my heart. <3 <3 <3
> 
> I think that this chapter is pretty "harmless", but in case anyone wants to check for possible triggering content or history notes first, both can be found in the End notes. (Also - for those, who read the first chapter on the day of its publication - I added some history notes the day after, so check them out as well, if you want :) )
> 
> Enjoy!

In the morning, Isak woke up half-sitting and half-lying in his armchair. Every muscle and bone of his body was aching terribly. At first, he thought that he had simply blacked out from extreme tiredness _yet again –_ right after dinner, before he could undress or at least move to the bedroom. Then, however, he caught a glimpse of unfamiliar clothes that someone must have deliberately left near the fireplace to dry and suddenly, the events of the previous night all came back to him down to the smallest detail.

The cold night. The air battle. The explosions. And finally, the desperate race against time to save their only survivor _._

At the memory of the wounded pilot Isak subconsciously turned his head towards the bedroom.

_Of course_ , he remembered. _I put him to my bed and went to sleep here myself._

Moaning quietly in muscle pain, Isak got up carefully from the armchair, walked slowly closer to the bedroom door and listened intently. He couldn’t hear any rustling on the other side which indicated that the pilot was most likely still asleep. Good. God knew that he needed a rest more than anything else right now.

Last night, much to his surprise, Isak had only found one wound in need of a special treatment on the pilot’s body – it had stretched from his right collarbone down to his right pectoral muscle. Despite looking rather harmless at first sight, it had turned out to be quite deep and serious. It had kept bleeding for a long time, long enough for Isak to begin thinking of the worst. So, with all his might, he had tried hard to stay fully focused on being thorough but swift in his healing and to clean and bandage the wound properly with a long strip of sterile gauze as quickly as possible. Eventually, stressed out beyond measure, he had managed to do exactly what he had intended. It had undoubtedly saved the pilot’s life.

Recalling everything that had happened at night and in the early morning hours, Isak couldn’t help but shudder slightly to shake the memory of the stressful events out of his mind. Then, stepping away from the bedroom door, he let the pilot rest for a while longer and quietly began his usual morning routine.

He opened the blackout curtains in the main room (and his heart jumped with joy and gratitude at the sight of bright white snow everywhere he could see), fed the chickens, brought some water from the well, washed himself, warmed up his tired muscles with a few exercises, started a new fire in the fireplace and made a simple but nutritious breakfast – a slice of bread with butter and honey and a mug of white coffee. Finally, seeing that it was well past nine already, he restocked his medical bag with ethanol, clean bandages and other supplies. He always took time to make sure he was prepared to go see a patient whenever needed. It had been one of his main principles ever since he had started studying medicine. Or maybe even earlier.

With all of his everyday tasks successfully behind him, Isak went outside, caught one of the chickens in the coop and started cooking. A strong chicken soup would help the pilot regain his strength sooner than any available medicine ever could. And, coincidentally, it was one of the few dishes that Isak was able to prepare without fear of accidentally setting the cabin on fire, too.

Busying his hands with chopping, cutting and stirring, Isak let his mind wander a little.

_What next?_ he kept asking himself and it was a difficult question indeed.

One thing was certain. It was absolutely necessary to keep everything a complete secret because if anyone found out that Isak was hiding an Allied pilot in his cabin, not just him, but the whole village would be held responsible for it. And _that_ was something Isak could never allow to happen.

Then, of course, there was the pilot’s convalescence, which, in Isak’s opinion, was equally as important as the total secrecy concerning his survival. He needed to recover from the blood loss, shock and exhaustion. He needed time and care. And although Isak was prepared to give him enough of both, they had to talk first and the pilot had to agree with it.

Which seemed to be quite a problem as well because Isak had no idea at all what languages the pilot could speak and if Norwegian was among them, too. Sure, he served in the RAF and flew a Spitfire which indicated that he was most likely British, although not necessarily. He could also be French, Norwegian, Czech or any other nationality. So, eventually, Isak only sighed helplessly and having no other idea to focus on, he began to remember everything he knew of the English language.

He had only managed to prepare a greeting and a few simple sentences about the pilot’s health condition, when one particular detail from the previous night resurfaced in his mind and made him gasp in sudden realisation.

_There was a squadron badge on the pilot’s jacket._

All at once, Isak abandoned the half-chopped vegetables in the kitchen and went to explore the pilot’s clothes that were still drying by the fireplace. He found a pair of trousers, a ripped and bloodied shirt and, finally, a sheepskin flying jacket. He pulled it off from its improvised clothes hanger for a closer inspection and then he saw it. The badge.

It looked like a round amulet. In the centre, there was a Norwegian Viking sword and a British sword in saltire, bound together with a ring. On both sides, there was the number 331 and along the edge, an inscription in capital letters read “Norwegian Squadron, Royal Air Force”. This main emblem was accompanied by a motto “For Norge”.

_For Norway._

_So, he **is** a Norwegian after all,_ Isak concluded and the corners of his mouth turned up in a small, relieved smile. At least something was working in their favour. There would be more than enough problematic matters to deal with without a language barrier separating them.

Comforted and calmed by his fortunate discovery, Isak put the jacket back on the clothes hanger by the fireplace and then he returned to the kitchen.

* * *

Several hours later, the soup was done and ready to serve. It was very strong and smelled deliciously. Isak was quite proud of it. After he finished eating it himself (it was around lunchtime), he took the largest bowl he could find in the kitchen cupboard, filled it to the brim with the steaming hot broth, small pieces of vegetables and meat and put it on a wooden serving tray next to a mug of herbal tea. Then, he took everything to the bedroom.

When he entered it, as noiselessly as he could, he was immediately hit by the relative darkness of the small room. It was understandable – the blackout curtains were still closed. Isak hardly ever opened them. He usually got up early, spent his day in the main room or out of the house and often went to bed late, so on most days, there was no real need to bother with them.

Now however, Isak walked to the window and slowly pulled the thick dark fabric a little to the side. At once, a soft light started to flood every nook and cranny of the room. It wasn’t too bright or unpleasant, just strong enough to illuminate the pilot’s face and make him stir in his sleep.

Reluctant to wake him up unnecessarily, Isak took a few quiet steps to the bed, sat down on the edge of it and placed the tray with food on the large bedside table. Then, for the first time since he had saved him from the certain death, he took a proper look at the face of the man in front of him.

It was a sight to behold indeed. Isak kept wondering how on earth he could miss it last night. In vain, he tried to remember if he had seen a similarly handsome face before, such a perfect harmony of features. He hadn’t. So, he couldn’t take his eyes of it now that it was _so_ close to him.

The pilot seemed to be about Isak’s age and, in spite of his current medical condition, his face bore no evidence of hardship or suffering. It looked perfectly soft and smooth, except for a little scratch across the left cheekbone. It looked peaceful, almost angelic. And so did his hair – a perfect mess of dark blond locks and curls that lay spread out on the white pillow like a golden halo.

When the pilot stirred again, one of these locks slid down over his cheek until it reached his lips. Isak stared at it, mouth slightly parted in utter fascination and maybe, surprisingly, something close to fondness as well. He longed to touch the lock, to see if it was as smooth as it looked. Nothing more, nothing less. He still hesitated though, unsure if he was allowed to do a thing which seemed so intimate to him.

Eventually, not able to hold back any longer, he raised a hand and touched the matte golden strand with his shaking fingertips. Revelling in its silkiness he brushed it back over the pilot’s cheek and secured it behind his left ear. Slowly and with utmost care, as if he was afraid that he would break it.

The tender touch of fingers upon a cheek must have been the last nudge that the pilot needed to leave the land of dreams because not even a heartbeat later, his eyelids quivered a little and began to open lazily.

Isak immediately pulled his hand away from the pilot’s face but it was too late. The pilot had seen it. And what was more, he kept looking at Isak through his heavy, half-closed eyelids and with eyes so blue and beautiful like the sky in June and it seemed as if he wanted to say something.

“G-green… So... lovely…” he murmured, more to himself than to Isak. _In Norwegian_. “An-… Angel… I see an angel.”

Isak frowned, not very wise about the pilot’s first words and fearing that he might be hallucinating from fever. He put a palm on his forehead to check the temperature but as soon as he did, he exhaled in relief.

_No fever, thank God. But…_ _What is the pilot talking about then?_

“Mhmmm… Golden… Am I… Am I in heaven?” asked the man in question, a little more intelligibly than before and with his eyes almost fully open now.

As Isak began to slowly put the pieces together, he felt a dark blush appear on his cheeks.

_Oh. He must mean me._

Determined to keep calm and composed, even though the realisation caught him completely off-guard, Isak took a deep breath, smiled a little and answered in what he supposed could be taken as a friendly manner, “No. You’re still on Earth. On the north side of Trondheimsfjorden to be specific.”

The pilot blinked a few more times, rubbed his eyes and opened them wide, the residue sleepiness leaving his body at last. Staring right at Isak with profound interest he then asked quietly and a little shakily, “W-what happened?”

Isak shifted a little in his position on the edge of the bed, so that he could look at the pilot’s face from a better angle and then he replied, “Your airplane crashed last night, right outside Rørvika. You were injured, so I took you to my cabin. I’m doctor Valtersen,” hoping it would give the pilot the basic information he needed.

“Even,” the pilot introduced himself briefly and attempted, fairly successfully, to sit up in the bed. “Bech Næsheim,” he added to make the introduction complete.

Isak nodded and smiled at him again. Then, his gaze fell upon the tray he had brought from the kitchen and he remembered the original purpose of his visit.

“I cooked some soup. And some herbal tea. You must be hungry,” Isak said, took the soup bowl from the tray and nestled it in the pilot’s – _Even’s_ – lap.

The second he did, Even’s stomach grumbled loudly in hunger. Even froze, lowered his gaze and bit his lip sheepishly but then his face turned into a cheeky grin. Isak readily returned it. He was happy to see his patient in a good mood – humour was a sign of healing after all. And also, Isak couldn’t help but notice how lovely it looked on Even.

* * *

While Even was slowly eating his soup (having complimented Isak on his remarkable cooking skills first), they talked some more. About the air battle, the extent and severity of Even’s injury and how it had happened that he was in Isak’s cabin now. Isak tried to describe everything as precisely as he could, not adding or concealing anything. Even seemed to be both relieved and shocked by his words.

“So… they are both dead, the other two pilots?” he asked quietly and his entire demeanour turned serious all of a sudden. As if he wasn’t really content with the outcome of the battle.

“Yes,” Isak confirmed. “Their airplanes exploded almost immediately after crashing. There was nothing anyone could do to save them.” Even only nodded, gravely and pensively.

Isak watched him silently, trying to give him enough time to process all the information. He recognised the look on Even’s face far too well. He had seen it a lot more times that he would have liked to. _The survivor’s guilt._

It was the look of a man who survived but felt a little dead inside anyway. A good man who was torn between rejoicing in the fact that he was still alive and mourning for another two people whose lives were lost, who died far earlier than they had to. It didn’t matter that they were, in fact, war enemies. They were _people_ and that was enough.

Feeling the need to address the issue further but also to move a little forward in their conversation, Isak cleared his throat and asked Even, cautiously, “Was this your first flight?”

It took Even some time to respond but when the question was finally processed by his mind, he looked up at Isak and began to protest rather vehemently “Oh, no! Not at all. I had flown nearly a thousand times before.”

Isak couldn’t help but raise one disbelieving, _challenging_ eyebrow at him. “Are you sent on a mission twice a day?” he asked sceptically and with a clear hint of sarcasm in his voice.

Even chuckled, “Of course not,” and his eyes were quickly getting back their cheerful, amicable spark from earlier, which was a good sign and exactly what Isak had intended. “I fly for DNL in normal life, have been since they started operating...”

_Normal life. How fitting,_ Isak thought. _Almost nothing is normal on the lives we live now._

Even paused, appearing to be very deep in thought for yet another time that afternoon. “I even celebrated my 30th birthday in the air,” he said softly, the corners of his mouth rising slightly at the memory. “Last Friday,” he added just a moment later.

_You’re two years older than me then_ , Isak realised and not knowing what else to say out loud, he gave Even another kind and supportive smile. Then, having noticed that Even had already finished his soup, he took the empty bowl from his lap, stood up and turned towards the door that led back to the main room.

Before he even reached the threshold, Even recovered from his short walk down memory lane and called after him. “Wait!”

“What’s your name?” asked Even, as soon as Isak turned back to face him.

Isak frowned, suddenly very confused by Even’s seemingly simple question. “I’ve already told you. I’m doctor Valtersen.”

For some reason, Even seemed to be very amused by the answer, which confused Isak even more and made him frown even deeper.

“I know that. I meant your first name,” Even specified eventually, his expression radiating immeasurable openness and friendliness.

Upon hearing what he did, Isak froze on the spot with genuine surprise written all over his face.

_Oh. Of course._

The thing was… Isak hadn’t heard anyone call him by his first name for literal years. Ever since he had moved to Trøndelag from Oslo, actually. No one had ever felt the need to. True, he got on very well with all his neighbours and fellow villagers from Rørvika and with many people from other villages as well. Most of them were his patients and their families and Isak knew that they had learnt to respect him for his knowledge and skills of a doctor of medicine and wouldn’t wish for anything bad to happen to him. None of them could be considered his _friend_ , though. For everyone here, he was simply “doctor Valtersen”, a responsible, kind-hearted and introverted man from the South. A good and useful acquaintance. But not more.

No wonder then that Even’s innocent question made such a profound impact on him. In the last few months, Isak had almost begun thinking that he wouldn’t hear his name being said out loud ever again. Knowing now that he had been wrong, his face softened with something akin to gratitude and, ending the short moment of slightly uncomfortable silence between them, he finally answered Even’s question.

“Isak.”

A large and genuine smile bloomed on Even’s face. “Isak,” Even tried the name out, pronouncing each syllable with great care. It sounded like heavenly music to Isak’s ears and almost moved him to tears.

“Thank you, Isak. For everything. You risked your own life to save mine, took me to your own home to take care of me. If it wasn’t for you, I would be dead now. Thank you. I will forever be deeply grateful to you.”

Isak was speechless for a while, taken aback by Even’s words of sincere thanks. “I’m a doctor. It’s my job to help people,” he said in the end, simply and a lot more shyly than usual.

“Please, don’t be too modest, Isak,” Even tried to protest. “It wasn’t your job _at all_ to run through the forest at night, carry me on your back all the way here or hiding me when there are Germans everywh– ”

BANG BANG BANG BANG

A terribly loud noise of someone banging forcefully on the front door of the cabin interrupted Even in the middle of the sentence. Both of them flinched violently but tried to keep _completely_ _quiet_.

“Don’t talk. Don’t move,” whispered Isak urgently and waited for Even to nod in understanding before swiftly but quietly walking out of the bedroom and carefully closing the door behind himself. Then, he took a deep breath, put on a mask of absolute calm and nonchalance and went to answer the front door and greet the unexpected visitor, most likely a patient in distress.

When he opened the door, he had to fight very hard for his mask to stay intact. Right in front of him, there were four German soldiers and also, which was far worse, one of the most feared Gestapo officers in the entire Trøndelag – Captain Karl Oskar Teufel.

Isak didn’t dare to even think about the purpose of such a sudden _official_ visit but he heavily doubted the Germans just popped by to have a cup of tea with him. Still, he expressed mild surprise and proceeded to greet them as amicably as he could, given the circumstances. “Ah. Good afternoon, gentlemen. What can I do for you?”

“Guten Tag, Doktor Valtersen,” said Captain Teufel with a terrible, self-satisfied smirk that was making Isak’s blood freeze in his veins. “I think you should come with us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo... that's it. I'm a little evil, I know. Sorry! I still hope you liked this chapter. :-)
> 
> If you have time, please leave a comment. It makes me really happy to talk with you!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Have a great Christmas holidays! <3 <3 <3
> 
> Love,  
> Ronnie
> 
> \------------------------------------
> 
> HISTORY CORNER / TERMINOLOGY
> 
> Allied RAF squadrons = even though RAF was a British Air Force, there were quite a lot of allied squadrons established under its name. They were usually manned by foreign (non-British) citizens, often from the German-occupied countries like France, Czechoslovakia, Poland or Greece, but also from some of the Commonwealth nations (Australia, New Zealand, Canada). For the complete and exhaustive list, you can visit this [ Wikipedia page ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_Royal_Air_Force_aircraft_squadrons#Nos._300%E2%80%93352).
> 
> No. 331 Squadron RAF = one of the five squadrons manned by exiled Norwegians which were formed during WWII in Britain to help fight the Nazis (the Axis powers in general). Active between 1941-1945, this fighter squadron was first equipped with Hawker Hurricanes and since late 1941 with Supermarine Spitfires. It took part in several important missions in the Low countries (Liberation of Holland) and France (Dieppe Raid, Battle of Normandy). [ This ](https://www.valka.cz/files/thumbs/t_331squadron_676.jpg) is what the squadron badge looks like.
> 
> DNL = Det Norske Luftfartselskap (literally "The Norwegian Aviation Company") was a national airline of Norway. It operated domestic and international flights between 1935-1941 and 1946-1951 and it was one of the three co-founders of SAS (Scandinavian Airlines System) in August 1946, together with Det Danske Luftfartselskab (Danish Air Lines) and Svensk Interkontinental Lufttrafik (Swedish Intercontinental Airlines).
> 
> Gestapo = abbreviation of Geheime Staatspolizei (Secret State Police), an important and probably best-known department of RSHA (Reichssicherheitshauptamt - Reich Main Security Office) by the general public, also known as "Amt IV" (Department 4). Its main task was the suppression of political opposition in both Nazi Germany and Nazi-occupied countries but, of course, they participated on several other tasks with other security departments as well. (Since the organisational structure of RSHA is INSANELY complicated, I won't even try to explain it further. But, you can surely try to make some sense of it yourselves, if you like. Start with [ this page ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reich_Main_Security_Office) or, if you speak German, with [ this one ](https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reichssicherheitshauptamt).)
> 
> Captain Karl Oskar Teufel = there will be a few REAL people mentioned in this story. However, this Gestapo officer positioned in rural Trøndelag is a completely fictional one. :-)
> 
> \------------------------------------
> 
> POSSIBLE TRIGGERING CONTENT: mentions of explosions, war and death (in general), very brief description of an open wound and its treatment


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isak gets a warning or two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hei again, lovelies!
> 
> I know it's literally been ages since I last posted anything. I'm sorry. I had a lot of things to deal with after Christmas, at work and with some personal stuff as well. The pandemic didn't help either. But, I'm all back now, so here is the next chapter of the WWII AU. :-)
> 
> There shouldn't be any major triggers this time, but if you want to check the End notes first to be absolutely sure, go on. :-) Same with the History notes - they can be found under the chapter as usual.
> 
> Enjoy!

_“I think you should come with us.”_

Isak felt as if his heart had stopped beating upon hearing the Captain’s words. A wave of blinding fear washed over him and flooded his mind with terrible apprehension. However, there was still a slim chance that the unexpected visit of five Germans was completely unrelated to the events of last night, so Isak chose to act accordingly.

“Did something happen?” he asked with genuine interest, just like he would ask any other person who requested his help.

“It did indeed,” Captain Teufel replied, slowly and coldly, his grey eyes piercing Isak’s and radiating unapologetic cruelty. He looked truly menacing. His modest height of 159 cm didn’t make him any less so.

Before Isak could as much as raise a confused eyebrow at his cryptic words, another, familiar man made his way from behind the other four German soldiers and proceeded to greet Isak amicably, “Good afternoon, doctor! Could you please come with us down to the meadow? We are investigating a crash of an Allied airplane. We won’t keep you too long.”

Bjørnar Gunvaldsen, a police sergeant from the neighbouring village of Stadsbygda. A middle-aged, good-natured and straightforward man. A little too blunt at times, but always just and ready to help. His presence made Isak breathe a little more freely at once and calmed him enough to risk posing another, seemingly innocent question to Captain Teufel.

“Oh. Are there any survivors in need of medical help?” Isak surprised even himself with such a daring and provocative move and hoped it wouldn’t backfire on him. Not when Even was lying with a fresh wound in Isak’s own bed and his clothes were still hanging by the fireplace, hopefully dry enough to be burnt at last.

“Sadly, no,” Sergeant Gunvaldsen continued, unfeignedly, completely oblivious to the fact that the question hadn’t been directed at him but Captain Teufel. “But we still need to ask you something.”

Isak nodded a few times to show that he understood and agreed. “Alright then. I will just take my coat and hat. I’ll be right back, gentlemen,” he said and even smiled a little to show that everything was as it should be and there was nothing extraordinary _at all_ going on in his cabin.

Having closed the front door, Isak’s smile faded and he gave out a deep exhale. Then swiftly, he took his hat and coat from the rack but instead of stepping out of the cabin, he returned further into the house first.

In the bedroom, he drew the blackout curtain over the window to cover it entirely and whispered to Even who was lying completely still under the covers, “The Germans. They want me to go with them to the meadow. I will return as soon as possible.”

Even was visibly unsettled by the news, his eyes were wide and frightened but he nodded shortly in quiet understanding. Isak gave him a small reassuring smile and then left the room, as discreetly as before.

* * *

The journey from the cabin through the forest to the meadow took the short but heavily armed procession about half an hour – more than twice as long as it had taken Isak the previous night. Except for some small talk about weather that Sergeant Gunvaldsen initiated at the very beginning of their walk, no questions were asked during the whole time for which Isak was very glad. It provided him with enough time to prepare the official version of last night’s events that he would present to the others when asked to do so.

It was going to be a very unpleasant conversation, of that Isak was absolutely sure. Captain Teufel was infamous in the whole region for his complex mind games during interrogations, for making people uncertain and afraid to the point of confessing everything they had the slightest knowledge of and even more. He could let Isak suffer under the weight of uncomfortable silences and long stares or fire one sharp question after another at him. He could present his own, extremely exaggerated and highly improbable version of the story to Isak in an attempt to blur the lines between reality and imagination and eventually catch Isak red-handed lying to him. Everything was possible with Captain Teufel but Isak had to be prepared for it. It was a test he couldn’t afford not to pass. Far too much depended on it.

He would have to keep totally unflappable at all times, avoid being too hesitant or too eager to answer the questions, provide neither too vague nor too detailed information. He would have to be able to say the truth about the things and matters that were obvious or undisputable to make himself seem credible enough, all while concurrently making sure to keep the most important information hidden. Which seemed to be the hardest part because no matter how often Isak might have been forced to lie in the past, deep down he was a man of strong morals who despised deliberate lying, cheating or disloyalty of any kind. However, under the circumstances he knew he had no other choice but to try his best.

As soon as the little military suite left the forest and stepped on the meadow covered with a heavy mass of slowly melting snow, Captain Teufel turned to face Isak and asked, slyly, “So. This is the crime scene… Do you recognise it, Herr Valtersen?”

Despite the laid-back tone of the question, it was a fairly sharp beginning. A less cautious or more nervous person would immediately try to deny everything. Not Isak though.

“Umm, yes, I do. It’s Sven Haraldsen’s meadow. One of the largest in the village.” It was a simple and innocent fact, nothing confidential.

The Captain pressed his lips tightly together in slight disappointment. “Correct,” he confirmed curtly. Then, he continued, with as much nonchalance as he could, “Have you been here recently?”

Isak pretended to think about the answer for a second or two. “Well, it’s a really good shortcut when I want to take the ferry to Trondheim,” he admitted, “but I haven’t been to the city for several weeks now.” It was an indirect response, but a completely truthful one. It made Isak quite pleased with himself.

The Captain squinted his cold, grey eyes a little in search of a lie. Having found nothing suspicious on Isak’s answer, he eventually widened them back to their usual shape and size and ordered the whole group to get closer to the airplane.

It looked truly horrible. The explosion made the once elegant aircraft nothing but a pitiful mess of charred and blackened metal, wood and glass. For a moment, Isak was profoundly shaken by the sight. Shaken and slightly nauseous, too, because it made him realise in horror that Even or himself could have easily been part of that mess as well.

His short moment of unguarded fear ended as quickly as it had started when Sergeant Gunvaldsen sighed deeply right next to him. “Poor man. Nothing is left of him after the blast. May his soul rest in peace,” he said.

Isak nodded grimly, masking his earlier shock rather convincingly as polite commiseration with the pilot’s tragic fate. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Captain Teufel watching his every move like a hawk that watches its prey before an attack. So, he gave out a sigh as well and added, “Yes. What a terrible death,” for good measure.

The Captain’s expression remained unreadable even though Isak’s calm demeanour must have been greatly displeasing for him. And indeed, when in the next moment the Captain slowly walked close enough towards Isak to begin invading his personal space, the look in his pale eyes was full of bitterness and incipient anger.

“Where were you yesterday evening, Doktor?” the Captain asked evenly. He was barely reaching Isak’s chin but his whole body radiated supremacy and undisputable authority.

Isak lowered his gaze to the ground for a little while to let the Captain know that he respects it before he answered, careful to only mention the truthful and harmless parts of the story, “I came home around five o’clock, made something for dinner and then I fell asleep in the armchair.”

“Did you hear anything during the night? You live the closest from here…” the Captain demanded to know.

“Umm… I did actually. Something woke me up a few hours later… then I heard some shooting and after that,” Isak frowned and pretended that it was very hard for him to recall the events of the previous night clearly, “I think I heard some explosions… Yes. They were quite loud.”

“How many of them?” the Captain shot another sharp and quick question at Isak as soon as he got the answer to the previous one. He wanted to put Isak under pressure, that must have been evident for everyone who witnessed their _conversation_.

Luckily, Isak had prepared for this eventuality. He pretended once more to be deep in thought for a short while before he admitted apologetically, “I’m sorry, Captain. I’m not really sure. I was tired… But I know there were several of them.”

“That’s alright, doctor,” Bjørnar Gunvaldsen began to assure Isak kindly and _completely_ _unexpectedly_. “It was in the middle of the night. And besides, no one we asked today could tell us the exact number.”

Isak gently turned his head towards the good Sergeant and gave him a small thankful smile.

To say that the Captain wasn’t sharing the sentiment would be a huge understatement. His face became one of pure contempt in an instant. His cheeks were rapidly reddening with suppressed rage. Both of his hands were balled into fists so tightly that his knuckles were white.

_The Sergeant might be punished for all his unsolicited commentaries later_ , Isak thought and hoped that the punishment wouldn’t be too harsh.

When Captain Teufel finally managed to regain at least some of his earlier calm, he turned back towards Isak, tilted his head to one side and just observed him without uttering a single word. As if he already knew everything and only kept asking questions _pro forma_. Ten seconds or maybe more passed in absolute silence before he finally smiled in his own menacing way and asked, sounding openly incredulous, “So, you don’t know how many explosions there were, Herr Valtersen? You cannot recall what happened last night? That’s… _interesting_.”

Isak only shrugged his shoulders briefly in answer. He knew that the Captain desperately wanted to make him confess. Still, he was determined to resist whatever was to come next. And indeed, he didn’t have to wait for too long.

“Maybe it all happened a little differently,” announced Captain Teufel. “Please, _do correct me_ if I’m wrong, Doktor…” And then, he proceeded to describe his own version of the events.

“You did fall asleep but later, when you heard the sounds of the air battle, you woke up, went outside and witnessed everything. You saw and heard how the first two airplanes crashed and exploded but not the third yet, so you decided to find it, saved the Allied pilot and helped him escape. Huh? What do you say to that?”

Before Isak could as much as wide his eyes in surprise and open his mouth in disbelief (because yes, the Captain’s version was dangerously close to the actual truth), Sergeant Gunvaldsen decided to express his honest opinion on the matter _yet again_.

“Well, that’s a bit far-fetched, isn’t it?” he frowned sceptically and looked questioningly at Isak who couldn’t help but snort a little at the sheer absurdity of the whole situation. In his mind, he thanked God for Bjørnar Gunvaldsen’s pure heart and almost childish innocence.

“I’m afraid, he’s right, Captain,” Isak remarked. “Yesterday was my visiting day. The last thing I wanted to do was to wander alone at night in a snowstorm.”

“Exactly. That would make absolutely no sense at all,” Sergeant Gunvaldsen added to confirm Isak’s words.

And just like that the entire interrogation was ruined beyond salvation.

Captain Teufel was breathing heavily and his eyes were squinted so much that he must have had trouble seeing even his immediate surroundings properly. So strong was his anger at that moment and so hard to conceal.

It wasn’t until a few heartbeats later that he was able to lock his eyes with Isak’s and say, dryly and measuredly, “Very well, Doktor. If that is the case, then you may go now. But remember – we will meet again. _Very soon_.”

Isak could recognise a warning when he heard one, so, careful not to tease the Captain any further when his self-control was torn into shreds, he simply lifted his hat a little above his head, nodded slightly and muttered a polite, “Gentlemen,” before turning towards the forest and walking unhurriedly back to his cabin.

* * *

By the time he reached it, the sun had moved significantly lower on the sky and it was almost ready to disappear behind the horizon.

Isak didn’t pay much attention to it. He locked the front door of the cabin firmly behind himself, pressed his forehead against the cold wood and closed his eyes tiredly for a moment.

_That was close_ , he thought and gave out a few deep exhales of relief. _Almost **too** close._

His first instinct after taking off his coat and hat was to check if Even was alright. Carefully, he opened the door to the bedroom and entered. With the blackout curtain drawn he couldn’t see much but once his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he recognised the silhouette of the bed and he slowly approached it.

“Even?” Isak whispered softly, once he was sitting down on the edge of the bed and lowering his head closer to where Even’s should have been lying. But the only answer he got was Even’s relaxed and regular breathing. He had fallen asleep again.

Isak smiled fondly, then grabbed an empty tea mug from the bedside table and returned back to the main room.

He washed his hands thoroughly, washed up, put the copper kettle on to make some tea for himself and rekindled the dying flames in the fireplace. With these tasks completed, he checked Even’s uniform by the fireplace for at least the twentieth time that day. _At last,_ it was completely dry for which Isak was very glad. The sooner he would get rid of it now, the better.

Unfortunately, the actual process of destruction proved to be rather problematic. Whereas the shirt and the trousers began to burn violently as soon as Isak offered them to the flames and literally vanished before his eyes in the matter of minutes, Isak doubted the same would be the case with the sheepskin jacket and shoes. The materials they were made of seemed far too hard and thick to be burnt easily.

Isak sat down in his armchair, frowning and biting his lower lip nervously. The two most recognisable articles of Even’s clothing, a clear proof of his true identity and of Isak’s crime against the occupation regime lay spread out on the floor in front of the fireplace, waiting for Isak to make up his mind about how to effectively get rid of them.

Just for a moment, a half-formed thought of throwing all the incriminating things into the well or burying them somewhere in the forest crossed Isak’s mind. But he quickly dismissed it as too dangerous. Even though it was highly improbable for a random passer-by to witness anything in the middle of a dark night, Isak didn’t want to risk it. Not when cunning and sly Captain Teufel openly threatened him with further investigation of last night’s events a little less than an hour ago.

Eventually, not able to think of anything better to do, Isak stood up decisively from the armchair and fetched the largest scissors he owned from the pantry adjacent to the kitchen area of the main room. Then, he kneeled by the fireplace, took the jacket into his hands and one by one, he began to rip out the seams.

Fairly soon, he managed to transform both the outer leather layer and the fleece lining of the jacket into a pile of palm-sized rags. Content with the outcome of his efforts, Isak grabbed a handful of them and threw them into the fire. The effect was immediate. Hundreds of tall red and yellow flames greedily devoured them and very soon begged for more. Isak gladly complied and added another three handfuls into the fire before turning his attention to the last remaining thing to destroy – Even’s shoes.

They couldn’t be cut by the scissors like the jacket, that was evident.

_Argh. But what am I supposed to do with them, then?_ Isak asked himself, getting rather stressed and fretful upon seeing that there was yet another obstacle for him to overcome.

Luckily, he soon got an idea that could work and decided to try it at once. He went outside, searched the shed which he used for storing firewood, then returned back inside the cabin with a large axe.

Ten minutes later, the shoes lay in front of him, chopped into small pieces that were perfectly burnable.

* * *

Tired beyond belief after the stressful events of the afternoon and early evening, Isak fell into his armchair and sighed. For the first time since Captain Teufel had banged on the door, his heartbeat slowed down to its usual rate.

_Soon, there will be no direct evidence of Even being an Allied pilot_ , Isak realised with a great deal of contentment. _He will be safe._

The thought of Even made him wonder. _Is he still sleeping?_

A hint of a smile appeared on Isak’s lips, followed closely by a wrinkle of concern on his forehead. _He needs to eat something. Is there any soup left?_

There was, so Isak reheated it on the stove and divided it into two equally large portions. He ate one of them with a slice of bread at the kitchen table, making sure to occasionally check the fire and throw some more rags into the flames until everything that had to be burnt was burnt. When he finished, he put the second bowl of soup on a serving tray, along with a slice of bread, a mug of tea and a kerosene lamp and went to see Even again, hoping to find him awake this time.

As soon as Isak opened the door of the bedroom and the lamplight illuminated the area where the bed stood, Even stirred and began to sit up. There was something incredibly sweet on the way he looked at Isak, with his big blue eyes and a small sleepy smile. Isak couldn’t stop looking at him and felt how his own smile began blooming on his face.

“Halla, Isak,” Even greeted him simply.

Still not used to such a high level of open friendliness, Isak’s heart melted a little as he heard the words leave Even’s lips.

“Umm, halla,“ Isak finally replied when he recovered and made an (unsuccessful) attempt to shift his gaze away from Even. “I’m sorry if I woke you up.” Then he came closer, put the tray on the bedside table and sat on the edge of the bed, just like the last time they spoke together.

“You didn’t,” Even assured him but then, his smile quickly faded. “What did the Germans want?”

Isak understood Even’s concern, so he didn’t hesitate to answer him. “They asked me a few questions about last night, but soon realised that I couldn’t tell them much. So, they had to let me go.”

Even nodded, registering Isak’s words, analysing their meaning. “Do you think they believed you?”

Isak shrugged. “It seemed so,” he admitted, even though he wasn’t entirely sure. He could still remember the Captain’s icy glare and also – his direct warning. So, he added, “We’ll still have to be careful though,” while handing Even the soup bowl and bread.

Even thanked him and immediately began eating with great appetite but soon after, he stopped. “I heard some more banging, not very long ago. What was that?” he demanded to know.

Isak mentally scolded himself for scaring Even _completely unnecessarily_ before responding, “I was just getting rid of your clothes. Burning them.”

Then, realising the practical consequences of his earlier actions, he stood up from the bed, walked to a large wardrobe that stood in the opposite corner of the room, opened its doors and began to search for something suitable Even could wear. “I will give you some of my own. I have enough of them to share.”

Even’s cheeks reddened slightly but he gladly accepted Isak’s offer. “Thank you, Isak.”

“Oh, and I found _this_ ,“ Isak announced and handed Even a small dark blue booklet before delving into the wardrobe again. “It was in your jacket, in one of the inner pockets.”

Even immediately grabbed it and started inspecting it closely. Isak couldn’t see his face but he heard him breathe a sigh of great relief.

The little booklet must have contained Even’s personal documentation. Most likely forged, Isak assumed. He wasn’t sure because he had chosen not to read it for his own safety and Even’s too. He said as much to Even, who gave him a small grateful smile and thanked him for preserving it.

In a very short time, Isak found everything he was looking for – a warm maroon sweater that Even could wear over the shirt Isak had already given to him, the longest trousers Isak owned (because Even seemed to be a tad taller than him), socks and even a pair of older but still wearable shoes. Satisfied with the outcome of his search, Isak folded everything into a neat pile and put it on a chair by the bed.

_Tomorrow, there will be enough time for Even to try everything on_ , Isak mused.

Just as he was turning back to face Even, a sharp knock on the front door echoed through the cabin for the second time that day.

“Could it be _them_ again?” Even whispered, his eyes anxiously looking into Isak’s in search of an answer.

“I don’t know,” replied Isak, truthfully, but with a worrying thought flashing through his mind. _Is this what the Captain meant by “very soon”?_

Luckily, the mysterious guest’s next words put all gloomy speculations to a quick end. “Doctor, are you there?” the person called through the door. “It’s me. Håvard.“

Håvard Berg, one of the farmers in Rørvika. He came to Isak every other Wednesday evening. Isak had completely forgotten about him in the light of recent events.

As the realisation slowly dawned upon him, he nodded shortly towards Even to let him know that there was no immediate danger, waited until he nodded back, then closed the bedroom door and went to answer the front door.

“Good evening, Håvard. I’m sorry it took me so long to answer. Come inside, please.”

Håvard greeted Isak back and gladly accepted his invitation to enter the cabin. He was carrying a bag in his hands and another one on his back.

In the kitchen, he put both of them on the table and began unpacking their contents straightaway. They were full of groceries. Rationed groceries. Things Isak needed very much but only rarely was able to buy himself. He simply couldn’t afford to spend several hours a day queuing for them when there were several villages full of patients in need of his care.

Fortunately, many people knew about it and very often chose to pay Isak with goods rather than money. Håvard Berg, whose entire family was in Isak’s care as well, was one of the most generous of them. Isak was incredibly thankful for it.

Having unpacked everything he had brought, Håvard ran his hands through his greying blond hair and addressed Isak in a friendly manner, “Alright. That should be all, doctor.” Then he overlooked the table and checked everything once more just in case.

“Flour, milk, cheese, some beef, smoked pork, a piece of lard, potatoes, sugar, coffee and cider. Good. Everything is here… Oh, have you heard about the sugar, doctor? They want to raise the price and reduce the ration again! Unbelievable...” and he shook his head a few times in strong disagreement.

“Yes, I think I heard something,” Isak admitted and began to move all the groceries into the pantry. Håvard joined his shortly after.

“Here,” said Isak when everything was stored where it should and handed Håvard the ration cards equivalent to the delivered goods and a little money. “Thank you very much, Håvard. I don’t know what I would do without your help.”

Håvard accepted the ration cards and the money but waved a hand dismissively at Isak’s words. “It’s the least I can do, doctor. I’ve got old parents and nine children and you’ve helped all of them many times already. You even delivered my two youngest ones and saved my wife’s life! That’s something I could never be grateful enough for.”

Then, he hesitated, albeit very slightly, before continuing, “Besides… here in Rørvika people always stick together. We’ve all lived here for centuries. We know each other well and we know how to defend ourselves from the dangers that threaten to break the peace and calm in this village. We are a very _strong community_.”

Isak smiled at him a little sheepishly and Håvard tried to smile back but Isak couldn’t help thinking that there was something _else_ as well that Håvard wanted to say. Something else he wanted Isak to understand. So, when in the next moments, Håvard’s smile gradually disappeared and changed into a mask of forced and fake casualness, Isak wasn’t even surprised that much. He patiently awaited Håvard’s next words and tried to ignore the wave of unpleasant anticipation that nestled in his stomach.

“By the way,…” Håvard began, feigning nonchalance rather well, “the Germans wandered around the village today, asking everyone questions about the enemy airplane on Sven’s meadow. It crashed _very_ close to your cabin, didn’t it?... But of course, we know you have nothing to do with that, doctor… _Do you?_ ”

Isak looked up and was met with a pair of searching dark eyes. He resisted them for a few heartbeats before he gave Håvard the only answer he could. “It did crash quite close, yes. I don’t know much about it, though. I try not to meddle with these things at all, on principle.”

Håvard seemed to be pleased to hear such an answer. “Good… Because we would never allow Rørvika to become the second Telavåg. _Never_. Whatever the costs.“

And at that moment, Isak understood everything. The whole terrible truth.

Håvard was here to warn him that if anything happened, if _Isak tried to do anything unlawful or anti-regime_ , the village wouldn’t even try to save him. They would protect themselves, the ancient and honourable families, but not him – a stranger whom they only tolerated among themselves because it was convenient.

It was a bitter awakening but one that came to Isak just in time. Now at least, he knew for sure that absolutely _no one_ had to find out about Even and that he only had himself to rely on.

Having completed both of his tasks – delivering the food _and_ the warning, Håvard didn’t have any other reason to stay at Isak’s cabin, so he grabbed his two bags, wished Isak a good night and took a quick leave. The cuckoo clock was just beginning to announce the arrival of half past eight.

* * *

As if there weren’t enough challenges that day, when Isak returned to the bedroom, he didn’t find Even lying in bed but sitting on a chair next to it. He was getting dressed. In a hurry.

“What are you doing?” Isak asked him, the confusion in his voice clear and evident.

Even made sure to keep his face down towards the floor to avoid any eye contact. “I can’t stay here.” Then, as he began to tie his shoelaces, he added, full of remorse, “I heard everything.”

Despite his surprise, Isak began to protest almost immediately, “You can’t leave. You lost a lot of blood and there’s a fresh wound on your chest. Your state is not nearly stable enough to allow travelling. More than anything else, you need to rest to recover.”

“That might be true,” Even admitted reluctantly, eyes still firmly fixed on the floor, “but if I stay here, you’ll be in grave danger. You already are. And I can’t let that happen. So… just let me leave, please. Before it’s too late.”

As much as Isak might have understood Even’s reasons and point of view, as a doctor of medicine he couldn’t agree with them. “I won’t,” he told Even resolutely, then closed the bedroom door and leaned against it to block it.

Even sighed tiredly, apparently not desiring to argue with Isak at all. He stood up and Isak would have admired how tall and elegant he was if he wasn’t so focused on preventing his abrupt and sudden leave.

And then, Even raised his gaze and his eyes met Isak’s for the first time since the beginning of their talk.

They were so beautiful, so blue and sad and so _guilt-ridden_. Isak felt an overwhelming wave of protectiveness wash over him at the sight of them. He wanted to heal and protect their owner, shield him from the world, keep him safe from all danger.

“Please, Isak, step aside” Even begged him quietly and took one, surprisingly wobbly step towards Isak, who only shook his head firmly and stayed exactly where he was – practically glued to the bedroom door.

In the next moment, everything happened very quickly. Even wanted to step even closer to Isak but his knees buckled under him unexpectedly and his eyes rolled back into his head. Isak had caught him just in time before he could hit the floor and badly injure himself.

“Even? Can you hear me? Even! Wake up!” Isak tried to revive Even as soon as he laid him down on the bed. He had fainted. His blood pressure was still too low to allow him to stand, let alone walk.

Even’s eyelids quivered, then sky-blue irises slowly appeared behind them. Isak smiled at Even encouragingly. He was glad Even hadn’t entirely lost consciousness. That would have been a very bad turn of events.

“I’m sorry,” were the first words Even mumbled when he woke up, “for being such a burden.”

He would have probably kept blaming himself even more, so Isak chose to interrupt him. “You are _not_ a burden, Even, you’re a patient,” he corrected him, calmly but assuredly. “Rather undisciplined one I should add.”

They both chuckled at Isak’s little joke. Even still seemed rather embarrassed, kept lowering his gaze shyly and playing with a loose thread he found sticking out of the fabric of the duvet. Isak wasn’t angry with him, just relieved that his state was stabilised. A glass of water later, when he could see the usual colour return to Even’s face, he rejoiced even more.

The cuckoo called again. It was nine o’clock. Isak knew he should let Even sleep.

“I should let you rest,” he remarked. Then he helped Even undress down to his underwear and shirt and settle back into bed.

“Are you honestly feeling better now?” he demanded to know, reluctant to leave Even alone without making sure first.

Even nodded a few times. “Much better. Thank you.” His eyes bore into Isak’s with so much gratitude that the corners of Isak’s mouth curled up contentedly, completely of their own volition.

“You’re welcome,” Isak replied and raised from the edge of the bed. “Good night, Even.”

Even’s soft gaze silently followed Isak’s movements, before he half-whispered, “Good night,” in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for today. :-)
> 
> I hope you're still interested in this story. If yes and you've got time, please leave a comment or kudos. I love to interact with you all!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Take care and be safe. <3 <3 <3
> 
> Love,  
> Ronnie
> 
> \------------------------------------
> 
> HISTORY CORNER / TERMINOLOGY
> 
> Rationing during WWII = one of the key ways how to regulate war-time or early post-war consumption of food, textiles, coal, fuel and other comodities in Nazi Germany, Nazi-occupied countries and many others as well (including the UK or USA). There was a lot of administration and bureaucracy involved in running the rationing system. Essentially, every month each person/citizen was given a booklet of small cards or coupons which represented the amounts of various goods that they were entitled to. These ration cards had to be presented at shops along with the money and either they were taken away from you or "stamped". Without them, no one could buy anything legally (the existence of the black market was, of course, an entirely different story). As the time passed, some comodities (typically meat, sugar or coffee) got scarcer and scarcer, so the rations were smaller and smaller. In extreme cases, the population could be hit by famine (not the case of Norway, luckily).  
> For those who want to know more about this topic, I found a very interesting article about WWII food rationing in Norway [ here ](https://journals.openedition.org/aof/6383).  
> Also, [ here ](https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Norway%27s_WW2_Resistance_Museum,_Oslo_\(Hjemmefrontmuseet\)._The_Austerity_of_Occupation_-_misc._wartime_ration_stamp_cards_and_surrogate_replacement_everyday_products,_food,_etc._Photo_2017-11-30_b.jpg#file) and [ here ](https://www.europeana.eu/en/item/2022608/RDM_PM_000404) are some pictures of authentic ration cards used in Norway during and after WWII.
> 
> Telavåg tragedy = one of the most terrible examples of collective responsibility. In May 1940, a fisherman called Lauritz Telle and his son Lars began to organise secret boat trips between the village of Telavåg (near Bergen) and the Shetlands. They helped to smuggle weapons and ammunition to Norway and people in danger of persecution from Norway. Unfortunately, in April 1942 they were discovered. Two Gestapo officers were killed while trying to arrest the Telle family and two Allied secret agents who were at their house at that time. The head Nazi commissioner in Norway, Josef Terboven, decided to brutally punish the whole village for it. All men were either tortured and murdered during interrogation or sent to the Sachsenhausen concentration camp (near Berlin). Women and children were imprisoned for two years. The entire village was destroyed, levelled to the ground and its name was erased from all the maps. For more detailed information, you can read [ this ](https://jenaconti.wordpress.com/2011/04/26/the-telavag-tragedy/) article.  
> Similar, but even more brutal and larger in scale were the events in the Czech villages of [ Lidice and Ležáky ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lidice_massacre) (June 1942, reprisal for the assassination of Reich Protector Reinhard Heydrich) or the French village of [ Oradour-sur-Glane ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oradour-sur-Glane_massacre) (June 1944, a terrible case of mistaken identity / similarity of place names).
> 
> \------------------------------------
> 
> POSSIBLE TRIGGERING CONTENT: interrogation (hints of psychological manipulation), mentions of explosions, war and death (in general)


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